Lightning and Hope, A One-Shot Collection
by frankannestein
Summary: This is a pair of unrelated one-shots, the first I've ever written, dealing with my favorite unfulfilled shipping. Both are from Hope's POV. The first takes place during FFXIII-2, the second after Lightning Returns. Summaries for each one inside. This project has been purely for fun (and maybe a little wish fulfillment on my part). :3 Thank you for reading!
1. Paradox Ending: The Light of Hope

Paradox Ending – The Light of Hope

**_Final Fantasy XIII-2 _in its entirety © Square Enix**

* * *

_**A/N**: Greetings, Dear Readers! Thank you so much for taking a chance on this one-shot collection. I've never written a one-shot before; it was kind of daunting. It's also my first foray into FFXIII._

_**Summary:** It is 10AF. Twenty-four-year-old Hope makes a choice that changes his future. He is trapped within a paradox ending for just one night, and in the morning, it's as if it never happened at all.  
_

_Now I present Paradox Ending - The Light of Hope._

* * *

Why did he feel like he had a live gun in his hand, his finger on the trigger?

Moreover, why couldn't he tell at whom was it pointed? Him, or Alyssa?

"Director?"

She was waiting for an answer. She beamed, her head cocked to the side, her eyes clear and expectant the way they always were. Dear god, what was he supposed to say? Thanks, but no thanks? That, as her boss, he didn't think that sort of behavior appropriate? That, for him, life was all about the research into the space-time anomalies rippling across Gran Pulse and an alternate power source so that mankind could finally, fully stand on its own, away from fal'Cie rule?

That, no matter how brilliant she was, how charming, how eager to help, or energetic, or adventurous, he would never feel that way for her. Could never. Because of Lightning Farron. A woman they all believed had turned to crystal inside the pillar with Vanille and Fang.

Hope covered her fingers with his, not quite managing a smile when hers brightened. "I don't think this," he said kindly, removing her hand from his sleeve, "is really what you want. Is it."

"Why, what do you mean?" she asked, her voice going high and thin, the smile disappearing like a solved paradox, her eyes darting from his face to their hands in growing alarm.

He took a step back. Let the cool night air flow between them. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but it's late, Alyssa. Go home and get some rest, all right? We have a meeting in the morning."

It hurt to watch the emotions run across her face like a recording on fast forward. Surprise, realization, rejection, disappointment, shame. Then she bowed her head, clasping her hands in front of her chest as if to hide an ugly hole put there by his dismissal. "I . . . I see. Will you tell just me one thing? Please?"

"Of course," he answered, subdued. He owed her that much.

"Is there someone else?"

Hope almost laughed. He could feel his face settling into its familiar, unhappy lines, but the laugh bubbled in his chest. There was absolutely no answer he could give her, not when the answer was contained in the grainy vision recorded in the recovered Oracle Drive. The one that he watched over and over when he was alone, just so he could see her again. Lightning, champion of the goddess Etro, trapped in Valhalla and forever beyond his reach. So far, only Noel had met her, and that was in Valhalla itself. Hope had thought the jealousy might tear him apart.

He didn't let it show. It was all moot, anyway. The vision showed Lightning losing her fight, not coming home.

Finally, he said, "No. There's no one."

"Then why," Alyssa whispered, speaking to her hands. "Why isn't it me?"

The heartbreak in her words was so genuine that he closed the distance between them without thinking, reaching out to touch her shoulder. He suspected that his assistant put on an act for everyone, maybe unconsciously. She always seemed to tell people exactly what they wanted to hear, which was why everyone idolized her. "Alyssa?"

"No, it's nothing," she said in a more normal voice, shaking her head so vigorously that her short blonde hair bounced. Bravely, she hitched her smile in place and danced backward, out of his reach. Bobbing in a well-rehearsed pseudo curtsey, she tilted her head to the side and gave him a cheerful wave. She was cute, there was no denying that. "Never mind, Director Hope. It's all right. Forget I said anything. Good night!"

Then she was gone, walking too quickly for a mind at ease but never fast enough to break into a run, leaving him alone.

So alone.

Ten years was a long time. Hope raised his face to the starry sky.

"It's not question of can or can't," he quoted, closing his eyes. "There are some things in life that you just do. Right, Light?"

No response. At the empty silence, he fought not to weep.

Snow. Sazh and Dajh. Serah and Noel. They were scattered. Either fighting against the destruction of the world, like Lightning, or simply vanished, like Sazh and his son. The future was a scary place, and they were barreling straight into it with no brakes.

He began the trek back to his quarters. His boots made the rusted metal platform ring, a steady, familiar tolling.

Then, when a breath of wind passed through the Paddra Ruins, he heard a soft chuckle.

"Still looking to me for answers, Hope?"

He whirled around.

"Light?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe his eyes. What with the Chaos bleeding into the world and causing paradoxes left and right, he'd seen stranger things, but nothing as impossibly beautiful as she was.

Because it was _her_. She was different, though. Lovelier, somehow, in an unearthly way. Now, Hope understood what Noel had meant when he'd tried to describe her; she had become a goddess, living apart from the ravages of time. A faint glow hugged her body, glinted in her rose-colored hair, on her pink lips, coruscating across her silver armor, blinding on the half skirt of white feathers that hugged her left leg. As if she was nothing more than a phantom, the glow did not touch the ground on which she stood.

She smiled secretively, a look he'd never seen on her face before. "Yes," she said.

He stumbled, only then realizing that he'd tried to move toward her, one hand outstretched. "Are you real?"

"Yes." Her eyes were steady. Confident. Amused.

"How – What are you doing here?"

No answer.

"Have you seen Serah?" he blurted, his mind catching up with him. "Light! There's so much to tell you. I –"

He hesitated, his face warming. So much, indeed. It had been ten years. Back then, she'd been like a surrogate mother to him. He'd been a hindrance to her. He knew that. But no one could go through what they had together without growing. Changing for the better. Because of her, he'd found the courage and strength to take his father's place in the Academy and become the leader that the world sorely needed.

He'd often wondered what she would think of him as a man, a scientist and a politician. If he could have met her like this instead of as an insecure, frightened boy of fourteen, would things have been different? The laugh bubbled up again, because right then, it occurred to him that he was actually older than she was, and the idea was so strange he had no clue how he was supposed to react to it.

As a man, he was respected and admired. His research was progressing in leaps and bounds. If all went well, he would create a new Cocoon, a haven for humankind, without flapping around on a fal'Cie's leash.

That was his dream. And he'd hoped so badly that she would approve. She was never far from his thoughts, for she had become his ideal, giving him a goal to work for. Now that she was here . . .

What would she think of him as a man in love with a memory?

Patiently waiting, Lightning did not move. She did not speak.

He let his hand drop. His feelings were his. He wouldn't force them on her. Not now. Probably not ever.

Suddenly, she drew the gunblade, extending her arm with the military ease that came from knowing exactly how strong and capable she was. A burst of white feathers patterned the night. The old gleam of anticipation entered her eye.

"Get ready," she said, smirking.

That was the Lightning he remembered. Hope grinned and flipped open his airwing before he turned to face their adversary. Months spent on site in Yaschas Massif had conditioned him to expect a wild animal attack at any moment. In fact, he landed the first blow. Activating the mechanism on the airwing that would freeze water particles in the humid air, he sent it spinning like a miniature snow blower. It clipped the nearest ugallu on its snout before driving into the flank of its neighbor. The pack howled, smelling blood, as it moved in for the kill.

He had modified the boomerang after he'd lost his l'Cie powers. Unlike Serah, he could no longer cast magic, but that was where science came in. While Hope caught the airwing and angled it for another throw, Lightning darted into the fray. The Overture seemed real enough, slicing through fur, muscle, and bone, spitting bullets in quick succession. She somersaulted through the night, the spikes at her elbows and knees serving her when a fang or claw got too close, and the airwing sprayed ice as it spun around her. Working together, it didn't take them long to thin the pack enough to send the survivors fleeing.

With a practiced flick, Hope folded the airwing and returned it to its pouch.

"Nice," Lightning said, her voice a purr of appreciation. She sheathed the gunblade at her hip.

Pleased, he laughed. "It's like a dream, Light. I feel like I'm dreaming."

He didn't say it, but he also felt fourteen years old, awkward and pathetic.

He sobered. Lightning was beyond his reach. She would never belong to anyone. Which was okay. He may have fallen in love with what he remembered of her, but he had never desired to possess her.

"It's not a dream," she said, and all at once he realized what was different about her. The anger that used to drive her was missing, although, now that he was really looking at her, the grief was still there. She was calm, but far from at peace.

Fate had dealt her a hard hand to play.

"I've been given a chance," she said, half to herself, half as if answering his unspoken thought. "Etro has given this chance to me."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

She looked up at him, solemn. "It's a paradox, Hope."

"You mean something changed," he said flatly. "It altered the timeline. Something . . . that I did?"

"It was your choice," she said, and then approached him. She held out her gloved hand. "Yours, and mine."

Hope didn't stop to think. He saw her hand, the longing and loneliness in her eyes, and he took it.

Her small, strong fingers curled around his. The last time he'd grabbed her hand, thoughtlessly, like a child, it had been bigger. Then, she pulled, and the ground fell away. Swirling Chaos engulfed him; he could hear thousands of voices, uncomfortably sounding like only a few, including himself, talking endlessly; he could see nothing; smell nothing; feel nothing except the pressure of her fingers, and he held on for dear life.

"Valhalla," Lightning murmured an eon later. Without him quite knowing how it happened, they were standing on the balcony of a castle, or perhaps it was a temple, staring down at a beach littered with masonry, at a black ocean made up of blue light. A paradox in and of itself. "Time does not touch its shores."

It sounded dull and monotone, like something she'd said many times before.

"Does this mean that I've disappeared, too?" Hope immediately asked. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. There was still so much work to do. So many people were relying on him. Had laid all of their hopes for a future on him.

Lightning spread her hands on the rail, still watching the surging, yet stationary surf. "Yes. And no."

"Light," he said, speaking more sternly than he meant to. He wasn't a child anymore. "What does that mean?"

"It means that there is no time, and that we have no time." She turned to him, her face sad, her eyes impatient. "When you wake up tomorrow, you won't be here. And I won't be there. I want to make the most of this time."

She was so close, brushing aside his hair, her fingertips lingering on his cheek. "Please," she said. "No more questions."

He caught her wrist. Not forcefully – she could break his arm in a blink if she wanted. Some things wouldn't change. But her touch was electric, making breathing difficult, and he needed to think. "Why? Why me?"

"Hope," she said affectionately, and she smiled. A true smile that lit up her whole face. "Do you think I haven't been watching you all this time? You've been working so hard to change the past. For Serah. For all of us."

Then she frowned and shook her head. Muttered, "I've never been good at speeches. Look at it this way. You've got your eye on the future, and I've got your back. I will always be right here."

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

His entire body responded in an instant. Her mouth was warm, soft, and insistent, her armor, by contrast, hard and unyielding against his chest. He kissed her back, befuddled by the buffeting of the Chaos that surrounded them, all of his uncertainty and inexperience pushed to the side. He'd found his answer.

He did not wish to possess her, because _he_ belonged to _her_, body and soul. If she abandoned him again, then so be it. If he was there because she needed companionship and a brief moment of feeling human, and it didn't matter with who, then . . . it didn't matter. He would deal with it. He always had.

Hope buried his fingers in her hair with a sort of desperate hunger, holding her to him. It felt so right, as if they'd done this many times before.

For a second or two, he had enough presence of mind to analyze the situation, concluding that they may well have, in this realm where time did not flow. But when Lightning whimpered a little and parted her lips, he soon forgot it.

The Chaos swelled, making him lightheaded. He was not on Gran Pulse, and Valhalla was letting him know it in the strangest ways. After what seemed like an eternity, his hands were touching more than cold, silver armor and supple leather – or, rather, less. It was Lightning herself, her skin and her curves, soft as only a woman could be, hard as the warrior she'd always been. Likewise, the balcony was gone, but where they were, he couldn't say. It was dark and light at the same time. It was kisses and embraces, warmth and closeness, taste and scent and pure touch. It was sweat and pounding hearts and gasping breath. It was pleasure. Instinct. Exertion. It was Lightning, opening up to him, accepting him, a perfect give and take as old as the world, belonging, for the moment, to them. It was his name on her lips, her body in his arms. It was a wave that crested and broke, carrying them along, a single entity.

It was love. His for her, and hers for him.

..::~*~::..

Morning light poked brittle fingers through the blinds across his window and stabbed at his eyelids.

Hope groaned and rolled over. Scrubbing the heel of his hand into his eye, he groped for his clock, wondering about the time. It felt like he hadn't slept at all.

He nearly dropped the clock. It was ten in the morning! He scrambled to get out of bed, entangling himself in his sheets in his haste. He'd missed the meeting, Alyssa must be frantic –

Alyssa.

At the thought of his assistant, an icy calm settled over him. He gazed blankly at his tie clip on the nightstand, the beams of sunlight hitting it, so hard-edged and real they had the power to make him bleed.

Because he couldn't remember where he'd been last night after he'd spoken with Alyssa. Was it a dream that he was trying to remember? All he could recall were bits and pieces: The fire of lips on his skin. A woman's voice, saying his name. A jumble of heat and passion, which had ultimately consumed him.

Through it all, a phantom with rose-colored hair haunted him. Took his hand and –

A message from Alyssa, probably not the first, sent urgent beeping through his quarters, derailing his rather embarrassing train of thought. Of course it was a dream! One best forgotten as soon as possible if he wanted to look anyone in the eye again. Snatching up a pair of pants, he hopped around with his hair in his eyes, yanking the trousers up to his hips while trying to type a coherent response one-handed.

When paradoxes were solved, time rewrote itself, and memories changed suit. It would be as if the paradox had never existed. He was relying on Serah and Noel to unwind the true past that Caius had twisted into countless knots, making falsehoods out of their own memories.

But he wouldn't let them fight alone. It was time to get out there and find a way to bring Lightning home. For all of them.

* * *

_**A/N2: **In an interview, Motomu Toriyama said that Lightning would never belong to anyone. I agree with that. But I also don't, because there is more to love than possessive love. Of all the romance staples, I think possessive love is my least favorite. I wanted to explore the possibility of a different kind of love.  
_

_When XIII-2 first came out, I was thrilled. My little fangirl heart wanted to explode at the fact that Hope was a man. YAY. I fell in love with the Lightning/Hope dynamic during their original journey through the Gapra Whitewood, and could not help soaking up every hint of it thereafter. Too bad Hope's just a kid, I thought. I didn't want Light to have to wait for him. But, wait! He's an adult now! And I wished and hoped Lightning would get to see it, too. Sadly (for me), it didn't happen. (I seriously wanted to CRY when LR came out . . .)_

_I know that not everyone is a fan of this ship, and that's okay with me. I'm not trying to shove it down anyone's throat, promise. It's just something I love, and I wanted to explore that love. I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it!_

_By the way, I do not believe Alyssa was sincere in this fic. She is, after all, an excellent liar, and knowing that she is a paradox is all consuming for her. I tried to infuse her scene with that backbone._

_I've said this before, and I'm feeling it now. Please, please, please review! I love reviews. Seriously. They're like candy. :3 Thank you for reading!_

_Yours,_

_Anne_


	2. Long Distance

Long Distance

**_Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII _in its entirety © Square Enix**

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_**Summary:** "It is said that the will of men determines the fate of this world where God doesn't exist. In that case, I choose to believe that if I strongly wish for it, an even more glorious future awaits her. May this woman, who was once a brilliant light in that other world, chance upon hope - this was the wish I made, and it was like a prayer, a promise."  
_

_Aoede, "Final Fantasy XIII: Reminiscence ~Tracer of Memories~"_

* * *

_You can't just build something up like that, and then abandon me._

Once, in that other life, he'd said that to her. Not to her face; no, at fourteen, his shyness around – well, anybody, really – kept his gaze glued to the ground, but he'd said it all the same, voice humiliatingly raw with confusion and pain. She'd had to admit that she was wrong, something that was nearly impossible for her, in order to save him from his self-destructive spiral into black hatred, and that was how he'd thanked her. He still remembered every single bit of advice she'd given him back when they'd been hunted as l'Cie. When she had risked everything to change their fates.

Young as he'd been, he hadn't loved her then. That came later. But he'd respected her. Looked up to her.

Trusted her.

With his very soul.

And she had trusted him with hers.

_Lightning. I – me, too. I mean, at least I'll try. I'll try to watch out for you, too_.

In the end, they'd saved each other. Bhunivelze had stolen him from his unnaturally long life, kept him in solitude in the derelict, manmade Cocoon, tortured him, forced him to be reborn from the Chaos again and again until his emotions leached from him like water wrung from a sponge. All so that Bhunivelze could make himself at home in Hope's body, return the broken shell to the boy Lightning once knew in order to control her, this divine Savior he'd created. But the God of Light hadn't managed to completely erase his soul thanks to Lightning, and Hope, in turn, had answered her frightened cry for help in the world of her own subconscious.

In all those long years of Chaos chained to an emotionless god, he might have despaired. He might have gone quietly into the darkness once Bhunivelze was finally done with him, but his friends had reminded him that he was "Hope" itself. The reminder was in the warmth of Snow's brotherly hand messing up his hair. It was Dajh's infectious giggle and Sazh's raucous laugh. It was Vanille's shining wonder, pulling Fang along. It was Noel and the final Yeul, their love for each other silent and powerful.

It was the beauty and vulnerability of Lightning's smile as she held her beloved sister's hand for the last time.

And he knew that everything he had ever done, he'd done for her smile. Hoping that she would see his work back and forth through time, and understand.

He was the last soul that she'd saved. And he had saved the Savior.

She was free.

But was he?

..::~*~::..

_I've got your back._

The words are there, even if he doesn't exactly recall the sound of her voice. He's never heard it in this life, after all.

_You call the shots now._

Hope shuts down his workstation for the night. With the rattle of plastic wheels over linoleum, he pushes his chair away from his desk and scrubs both palms over his face, his tired eyes. The lab is silent and dim. He is the last one in the office. As usual.

When his hands drop, his eyes fall on a manila folder, thick with paperwork, tagged with Post-It flags and paper clips. His own writing scrawls across the front of it.

"Chaotic Era."

It contains his memories. All of them, from the Purge through the final day and the battle against Bhunivelze. Centuries of work, research, knowledge, and the tale of the ten people responsible for it all. Technically, he has not lived those memories, but they are there. Lightning has saved them for him, brought them and everyone else's to the new world intact. Not everyone remembers, though. Just the former l'Cie and those closest to them: Snow's old gang. Lebreau, Maqui, Yuj, and Gadot. And the Eden journalist, Aoede.

He stares at the file as if expecting it to speak like an oracle.

There has to be more to it. A reason for his new life to be burdened with the old.

_Don't go chasing after enemies. It's a surefire way to get ambushed._

Aoede, has left. Hope is proud of her for tracing as many memories of that other world as she has, and maybe he's grateful, too. He's been in contact with Sazh, but now, after Aoede tracking them down, he knows where Serah is. And Snow. Fang and Vanille. Yeul and Noel.

His friends, reborn in the beautiful new world they wrested from a cruel god.

_I'm right behind you._

It's not easy to live surrounded by strangers. Especially when some of them he remembers very well. Like the new intern, Aina Stein. The moment she walked through the door to shake his hand, he knew her, the kind of work she did, her field of expertise. But the one person he longs to see, he suspects, will never touch him in this life. For him, she will remain a memory.

_Time to move._

He stands, scooping up the folder and several other files as well, unconsciously smoothing his tie as he does. He puts everything away, locks it up tight.

Then he makes his solitary way home.

..::~*~::..

_Trust me to cover your tail, and stay focused on moving forward._

"So she asks me if she can use the restroom," Rhett says. His hand seeks the back of his head and rubs ruefully.

"Who is this now?" Hope dodges a mother and her two young children on the way to the street mall. It's lunchtime, and he's hungry and ready for a break, but his mind is only partly on the conversation.

"Jihl. Rhett's intern. Have you seen her?" Karl butts in before Rhett can answer. "Pretty girl, but zero sense of humor. It's like she's got a stick shoved up her –"

"Yeah, so, Tipur thinks he's hot shit and he asks her, 'I don't know, can you?'" Rhett says, taking his story back. An admiring grin spreads across his face. "And Jihl, cool as you please, she straightens her glasses and says, 'Let's find out,' and out of the lab she goes. Doesn't even give him a glance."

By this time, Rhett and Karl are both snickering, and even Hope can't hold back a chuckle. "Is _that_ what all the fuss was about?"

"Nah, that was when Tipur tried to ask her out when she came out of the ladies'. She flipped him the bird and called him a pervert," Karl says, guffawing. "We had to break it up. Chick's got a mean left hook."

The three of them are stumbling, trying to walk and laugh at the same time and failing miserably.

Then he sees her, sitting alone at an outdoor table at the little corner café. A cappuccino steams in front of her, sunglasses protect her eyes. Her elbow rests on the table as she taps at the phone in her other hand. It's the most natural scene in the world, yet it strikes him like a jackhammer in the stomach. Instantly, his laughter dies. His eyes widen, he forgets to close his mouth. It's possible, from the sudden pain in his chest, that his heart stops beating as well.

Rhett and Karl notice. They look where he's staring.

Her hair is a deep rose in the sun, waving over her shoulder. Never having been very tall, she is especially petite, dressed in a white shirt and khaki capris, and Karl lets out a low, appreciative whistle, not loud enough to be heard over the shoppers. Hope seems frozen where he stands.

"Someone you know?" Rhett asks mildly.

"A long time ago." His voice is quiet. Stunned. _White_, he thinks. That was always her favorite color.

Hope's last memories of Lightning are of her as the Savior. By then, she hadn't been quite human anymore thanks to the interference of Etro and Bhunivelze, more than half a goddess with part of her heart carved away. The woman at the café table is beautiful, but in a human way. She wears lip gloss. Her legs are crossed. A small suitcase rests against her ankle. She smiles at her phone.

She's thinner. More ladylike. She has been born into a world where she no longer needs to fight.

"Old flame?" Karl pries.

Hope shakes his head with a self-deprecating smile. "Not by a long shot."

"Well, what are you gonna do?"

_Keep calm. We don't need to rush._

"Tell you what," Hope says, tearing his eyes from her. He's made up his mind. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Sure," Rhett says, as easygoing as always.

"Good luck," Karl adds.

"Thanks." Hope pats Karl on the shoulder and then breaks into a jog, crossing the street, weaving through the shoppers and passersby. As he nears the café, more details come into focus. Like the earbud in her ear, its partner trailing down to hang against her shirt. She is listening to music, but is open to conversation. He wonders what kind of music she likes. Every once in a while, she glances up; at the sky, the sun, the trees rustling in the breeze, her beverage, blooming flowers. But mostly, she's watching the people.

She seems so happy.

Then she sees him.

Her reaction is near identical to his. The smile slips off her face and she shoots to her feet.

"Hope," she says, and her voice is another shock to his system. It is low for a woman's, but breathy and feminine. Somehow, he knows what that voice sounds like when she is angry, in pain, or shouting across a battlefield. But it is only his name he hears, and there's a universe of meaning behind it.

He says the first thing that pops into his head. "Welcome back, Light."

It's a reflex response. That was what he said to her back in those cloudy days of half consciousness on the Ark. Thirteen days of welcoming her home after a grueling day of collecting souls in Nova Chrysalia before the Chaos consumed everything. He blushes; he can feel it.

"Thank you, Hope." It sounds as if she likes the taste of his name.

"May I join you?" he asks, quieter than ever.

"Please." It's terribly formal, but she indicates the chair across the table and takes her own, removing the earbud and her sunglasses as she does. Her eyes are still the color of a tropical sea. A calm color for such a turbulent woman.

After a strained moment, he folds his hands on the table and looks over at her through his lashes. "There's so much to talk about, I don't know where to start."

_You're doing fine, Hope. Keep it up._

"I know." She smiles. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah. It's good to see you, too." It is a gross understatement, but he lets it pass. There's something else bothering him. "Have you seen Serah?"

Her happiness is a tangible thing. "I have. Before I came here. She's doing well."

"Good," he says, and suddenly, strangely, his eyes feel hot and prickly. He lifts a hand to shade them, and the tabletop swims in his vision. "That's good. I'm happy to hear that."

His voice shakes, and he stops. All that time. All those battles. All Lightning had ever wanted was to protect her little sister. To be with her again. They may not be sisters now, but the love they felt would never dissolve. He wants to share in her joy, but all he feels is a crushing sadness instead.

"Hope." Concerned, she reaches across the table, covers his hand with her own. "Thank you."

_Don't stray too far._

"Right." He comes out of hiding and grins. What is the matter with him, acting like a child? "I'm fine."

_Stay alert._

He doesn't fool her. "You fought alone for so long," she murmurs, sitting back. "I'm sorry."

"Me?" He's honestly surprised. "I never thought about it that way. There were always others there, backing me up. It was you that –"

He stops, confused, but Lightning's expression tells him everything. She'd always been easy to read, once he stopped being scared of her and glimpsed the kindness she was capable of. The warm, maternal side of her that, before him, only Serah had seen.

She knows that he loves her still. Across time, across space, across their new lives. Not only that, but she has feelings for him, born of their mutual struggle. Of them all, she and Hope understand each other the most. It's why she's taken so long to track him down. Fear kept her distant.

Even reincarnated, she is terrible at relationships.

Somehow, he finds this funny. Lightning wasn't perfect then, and she isn't now. She covers her embarrassment with a scowl, crossing her arms, but he can't stop grinning.

What does she see when she looks at him? Not the child she knew before, that was for sure. Bolstered by the thought, he leans toward her.

"Light, I –"

_Concentration's important, but never lose sight of what's happening around you._

"Hello, can I bring you anything to drink?"

A server appears, smiling innocently. Hope snaps back, and Lightning sits up, both trying to pretend that he hadn't interrupted anything. They order soup and sandwiches, coffee for Hope. Lightning sips her neglected cappuccino.

They turn to safer topics. What they've been doing, Hope's work, Lightning's journey. They talk about Serah and Snow, Chocolina, Sazh, and Dajh. Noel, Yeul, Fang, and Vanille. Everyone is happy.

"Your wish came true, Light," Hope says, settling the bill. Although she resisted, he insisted, and won.

Lightning nods. "That's because it was everyone's wish."

She stands, gathering up her phone and the handle of her suitcase, reminding Hope unpleasantly that she has a home somewhere else. A life. That this is just a visit. "I have to go now," she says, confirming it. "I'll catch you later."

_Never panic. Calm heads make good decisions._

He also stands. "Will I see you again?"

It's obvious she's been avoiding this question, but now that it is aired, Lightning squares her shoulders to tackle it. She looks up at him. Hope is surprised by how short she is compared to him, when once he'd had to look up to her.

She tilts her head, considering her answer. Then, with a faint smile, she leans close, puts a small hand against his chest, rises on her toes, and kisses his cheek. It's quick, barely felt, and he can only smell her after she's put space between them again. Sweet, like roses. Her shampoo, maybe, or perfume. He is sad when it is gone.

"I hope so," she whispers. "I don't know what will happen."

"No one does," he answers. "That's part of the fun of living, isn't it?"

"Right," she says with her breathy laugh, and tosses a wave as she walks away.

..::~*~::..

_I only know that soon, we will be together._

Hope leaves work on time. Lightning has left him to continue her journey, but he feels some of the loneliness and sorrow fade. Because she has given him hope.

* * *

_**A/N: **I think the character of Aoede in "Tracer of Memories" fills the role of the player very well. What she says in my summary is the same wish I made. So I made it come true. :3  
_

_All of Lightning's quotes, the ones in italics, I got from the Gapra Whitewood section of FFXIII. I may have missed a few thanks to initiating battles right when she starts to speak (darn it!), but I think I got most of them. I wanted to tie in Hope's original life and relationship with her to this new life, and a new relationship. The last quote, of course, comes from "Lightning Returns."_

_The epilogue of "Lightning Returns" left me with a billion questions. Like, would they really look the way they did originally? Are their names the same? Are Claire and Serah still sisters, Sazh still Dajh's father, did Nora marry Bartholomew, why aren't Snow and Serah married . . .? Have they been reincarnated before (since the world looks like ours, I'm assuming it's been a VERY long time since that last battle), and if so, have they not all been alive at the same time? I ran around in increasingly smaller circles until I ran right up my own you know what and disappeared in a puff of smoke._

_Then I took a deep breath and decided to go with it. And this is what happened. A different kind of love. One that doesn't, in my opinion, weaken either Lightning or Hope. Yay!_

_Reviewer thanks! I owe you all the biggest debt of gratitude. **Mooncloudpanther** (YES! I'm not the only one! :3 Thanks, Panther!), **strawbluerry** (*snort* Haha! Good. I'm glad I got your imagination going. *snicker* Yes, I'm naughty. Thank you for reviewing!), and **Airhead259** (This review is pretty awesome. Thank you so much for taking the time to articulate what you liked and what worked for you. I appreciate that more than I can say. :3)._

_Dear Readers, thank you for joining me in this little project. I hope you've enjoyed your time in my head. *bows*_

_Please review! Pretty please with a cherry on top! And thank you!_

_Everlastingly Yours (you know, like a Gobstopper),_

_Anne_


	3. Interview: Lightning

Interview: Lightning

**_Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII _in its entirety © Square Enix**

* * *

_**Summary:** _

"My name was Aoede, back in that other world." _– Final Fantasy XIII: Reminiscence ~Tracer of Memories~_

* * *

My couch isn't big enough for all of them.

I don't realize how substantial Snow is until he enters my little apartment. The last time we met was at a bus stop in the sticks, after all. Nothing but open air, wide fields, and a sky that spanned forever like forever was a physical thing. Thinking to offer it to one of the women, I get up from my chair, but they've already worked it out for themselves. Without hesitation, Snow sits on the floor between the sisters, scooping up Serah's legs so he can drape them over his left shoulder. He massages her shin, blithely ignoring the sound of irritation Lightning makes above him. Serah winds her arm through Lightning's and rests her head on her shoulder. Hope's face is politely bland as he laces his fingers. They're all looking at me.

I sit back down, my notebook on my thigh.

I have no idea where to start.

Hope comes to my rescue. "Thank you for allowing all of us to come today," he says in his calm voice. He's handsome in a movie star way, more my idea of a young, prominent doctor than an introverted physicist, platinum hair a little long, posture politician-perfect. His green eyes are steady under heavy black lashes. "I know that you wanted to see Light –"

"And not our ugly mugs," Snow cheerfully interjects. Serah giggles when Hope finishes his sentence by letting out his breath all at once in wordless surrender.

"No, I should be thanking you for taking the time to meet with me again," I hurriedly assure them.

Hope smiles encouragingly, and I can't help smiling back, but Snow snorts.

"Yeah, right," he says. He's giddy – I decide this by how his blue eyes sparkle – and can't control himself. He's such a kid. A big one. "Short of knocking her out and hogtying her, Light would never have come if it weren't for us. Isn't that right, Sis?"

At that, he slings a muscled arm across Lightning's lap.

I open my mouth – _to do what_? I ask myself wildly. _Stop the explosion_? – but I'm too late.

"I'm _not_ your sister," Lightning snaps, pushing his arm off as if it is something long dead and starting to smell. "I came because I said I would. Unlike some people, I keep my promises."

It's the first thing she's said, and she's already angry. Dismay pools in my middle. It's been months since I started this project, which ended in the civil war that nearly claimed my life. Hope, Snow, Serah – all of them said it in one way or another: if I want the whole truth, I have to ask Lightning. Well, now Lightning is here, and I'm hopelessly tongue-tied while they bicker. I hold up a beseeching hand. "Um . . . excuse me?"

"When have I not?" Snow retorts, not hearing me, but in the same breath he cries, "Ow – hey!"

Pouting, he rubs his ear, right where Lightning's knee intentionally caught it. "Ooh, scary scary," he adds when he catches sight of her scowl. An impish grin shows small, sharp teeth.

"Snow," Hope sighs, his tone suggesting that he longs to say something a lot ruder.

Serah puts her hand on Snow's head, her fingers and the ring one of them bears disappearing in the thick, blond spikes of his hair. A ring that wasn't present when I last spoke with her. "Behave, you," she teases.

That's all it takes. Obediently, they settle down. Snow stretches out his long legs, his unshaven cheek against Serah's knees, and Lightning discreetly puts a couple of inches between them. This shifts her closer to Hope, so that their hips and arms are touching, but she gives no indication that this matters to her at all. In fact, she's struggling to maintain her scowl as Serah grins up at her. The fierce expression melts, and there's nothing but resigned affection under it. Suddenly, Hope turns his face away. He props his elbow on the armrest, his hand in front of his mouth as if he's hiding a smile.

I have to remind myself that these aren't the names they have been born with, especially because they are the names they use with each other. Ancient names from another world. They _are_ Hope Estheim. Snow Villiers. Serah and Lightning Farron.

Who does that make me?

I finally know what I want to ask Lightning. I've stressed about it for so long, but there was really only one question all along.

So, heart pounding, I ask it.

"Why?"

The four people grouped around my couch become very still. I suspect that the others want to know the answer, too. My fingers tighten protectively on my notebook. Bracing myself, I look Lightning in the eyes, pleading, hoping she'll understand. "Vanille told me something about you. She said, 'She wanted everyone to be able to live with their eyes on the future, without being stripped of their past. For that she battled god, and her victory won her this world – a new world for everyone to live in.'" I can quote Vanille without having to check my notes. Like a little girl with a favorite bedtime story, I've read the interviews so many times I know most of them by heart. "But how can I live in this present, looking at my future, if I'm still chained to the past? Why did you do this to us, to yourself?"

Lightning considers me for a long time. Very softly, she asks a question of her own. "May I see that?"

The silence is longer this time. Finally, I consent. I hold out my notebook, and Lightning takes it.

She opens it at random.

. . . _I kept encouraging them, telling them they've pushed themselves beyond their limits and created miracles again and again . . . _

Sazh's words meet her first. I can tell by the way her lips part and her eyes dart from side to side. I wonder if she can hear Sazh's peculiar accent when she reads my loopy shorthand. Serah and Hope read over her shoulders, their expressions a mixture of affection and reminiscence. Somehow, without moving, they're drawing closer together while Lightning turns the pages. Reliving the past in their own minds. Shutting me out.

Then Hope closes his eyes, taking a deep but soundless breath, his face pained. Because Lightning must have reached his accounting. What was it he'd said?

. . . _I thought it was a complete farce, myself. The words coming out of my mouth sounded noble, virtuous, but in the end, all I did amounted to nothing more than political posturing to win the people over. I sold them false hope. Again_ . . .

It's as if I can hear their testimonies again. Bits and pieces float through my mind. Snow's deep voice, usually so jovial, was tight with regret that day, earnestness flushing pink across his face.

. . . _He was brilliant. He looked for a way to stop the Chaos, and never complained, not even once . . . He was our – no, you may think I'm exaggerating, but he was the hope for all mankind . . . Panic began to spread after Hope disappeared, and those in despair clung to Bhunivelze's teachings in hopes of salvation . . . Bhunivelze was the one who erased hope_ . . .

Serah is crying by the time Lightning flips to Noel's interview. Not noisily, but she has to wipe her eyes and turn away.

. . . _Serah's death, the destruction of the world, they weren't the fault of Caius alone. I had a hand in it, too . . . After years, decades, of fighting, when everyone was exhausted and about to throw in the towel, Snow was out there in the front lines, risking his life, and he showed all of us what the back of a fighter must look like . . . _I remember the gleam in Noel's eyes, reminding me of a hunting cat's. He spoke bluntly to me, without apology_ . . . All of us were a little unhinged_ . . .

Lightning seeks out the last entries, and I think of the two women, Fang and Vanille, who could speak to each other without sound. Their words entwined, two testimonies forming one, like the opposite sides of a single coin.

. . . _Everyone else had already lived through five hundred years of a dying world. You can't fault them for wanting to depend on something. They were so tired inside_ . . .

Fang first, then Vanille. That was how answered my questions.

. . . _Light saved us. All of us_ . . .

"Aoede," Lightning says. She combs her bangs out of her eyes, and at the gentleness of her smile, I want to weep. "That was your name, wasn't it?"

"Back in that other world," I whisper. I accept the notebook, but when her fingers find mine and give them a squeeze, I look up, startled.

"These memories, Aoede. I didn't save them." Lightning releases me. "You did."

"Me?" I'm so taken aback that I nearly shout it.

"You." She's restless, shifting on the couch. She darts a glance at Hope and he nods at her to go on. She does. "Everyone held on to their own memories. People are born. They live and they die. But their souls live on, and remember. Because of that, we can find each other again. We can find our happiness. We'll never be alone."

Her slim fingers knit with Serah's.

What she says next stabs me right in the heart. "There was something we each wanted to do that we never got the chance to do. Because of the fal'Cie. Because of the Chaos. Because of Bhunivelze."

"Our lives were arrested the moment we became l'Cie," Hope says, but it's a question. "Or was it before that, when the Purge began?"

Lightning's aquamarine eyes narrow, and her voice goes flinty. "Before even that. When Lindzei first built Cocoon. You said it yourself, Hope. We were pets of the fal'Cie. Cocoon. Ragnarok. The Purge. None of it should ever have happened."

"You must have felt that way, too, Aoede," Serah adds. Her eyes are bluer than her sister's, filled with gentleness and the remainder of her tears. "Now's our chance. We are finally free to live the lives we were meant to have."

I'm starting to see what they're saying. Snow reaches up, engulfing Serah's free hand in his large one. Their love is tangible, and almost painful in its intensity. The l'Cie curse tore them apart, and they fought so hard to find each other again. Lebreau and Gadot told me how Snow, who was an orphan, had wanted one simple thing out of life: to marry the girl he loved and have a big family. As of now, right now, that wish still hasn't come true, but there's nothing stopping them. Not anymore. On the other hand, Hope and Lightning do not touch, but something exists there between them, like a magnetic field humming with electricity, and I can't help but feel like I'm intruding on something private. Except this time, it doesn't shut me out. I'm part of it.

I, too, have a life to live. It doesn't need a name, either my name, or that old one. It's _my_ life.

For the rest of the interview, Lightning answers whatever question I put to her, but I don't know what I ask. Robotically, I record her words, aware that I can always read them later. As the last of the evening light fades, I usher them to my door, thanking them, again, for their time.

"Hey," Snow says, brows creased. "You're coming too, right?"

"Coming?" I ask, bewildered. I blink up at him. "Where?"

"Didn't you know?" He grins and gives me a thumbs up. "It's Light's twenty-first birthday. The last one we celebrated didn't go over so well. I think it ended when she kicked me out of her house."

"Except you didn't _go_," Lightning mutters, head ducked so that I can't see her face. She crosses her arms tightly under her breasts. _Twenty-one_? I think, amazed. She's so young. I don't know why I expected her to be older.

Hope laughs, and she _tch_'s and turns her back on him. Rather than being put off, he ferrets out her fingers, coaxes them from a fist, and then leads her into the hall. She goes, but stiffly, as if embarrassed.

"It'll be fun. Come with us," Serah says, tucked into Snow's side.

It's like walking from a dark room into a bright one. From chill to warmth. From ignorance to truth. I put my notebook on my kitchen table. I try for a smile of my own. "All right."

"All _right_!" Snow echoes, too loudly for the hall and the apartments leading off it, and pumps the air with a fist. "Let's party!"

Lightning rolls her eyes, but she's fighting a smile.

And the rest of us? We laugh. Together.

* * *

_**A/N: **Well, here we are again, Dear Readers. :3 Like many of you probably were, I was so struck by the novella that I couldn't get it out of my head. And the desire to play with these characters a little more overwhelmed me. I wanted to try my hand at not just Hope and Light, but Snow and Serah as well. Well, mostly Snow. He's so vibrant. I also haven't written anything first person in FOREVER, so that was an exercise._

_I absolutely must thank Galvea of gamefaqs, who posted translations of the novella on the boards. Without that tremendous undertaking, none of this would have been possible. The passages in italics are taken directly from Galvea's posts. You are a treasure!_

_Reviewer thanks! **MidnightFenrir **(I appreciate it, thank you! :3), **Darwin** (D'awww, you are the bestest bestie EVER! *huggles* Thank you for checking these out!), **Airhead259** (Thank you so much (again) for your kind words! I can't even tell you how happy this review made me, because I feel like I really did get across what I was trying to, at least for one person, and that makes everything worthwhile), **Mooncloudpanther** (THANK YOU! :3), **Cissmoll** (D'aww, thankie! I wish this one had turned out more romantic, sigh! LOL! But, really, thank you), and **Ivonnebagel12** (Yay, I'm so, so glad you enjoyed it! I'm also happy I wasn't the only one wondering what the heck was going on, heehee. Thank you so much for leaving two reviews at once! :3)__._

_You guys are awesome. Don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise._

_Until next time, I remain faithfully yours,_

_Anne_


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